


Orders Acknowledged

by cairistiona



Series: Breathe, Focus [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cairistiona/pseuds/cairistiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he hears about Agent Carter’s passing, he knows he has to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orders Acknowledged

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation on tumblr with pretendthisiswitty, about the possible CA:CW funeral scene, in which she said, "And maybe Bucky sneaks into the event and that’s how they find him again, since Agent Carter set up that Peggy was best buds with all Commandos."
> 
> Speculative AU since MCU canon for Peggy Carter's death and Bucky's eventual reunion with Steve Rogers has yet to be established.
> 
> Might want a tissue.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All these characters belong to Marvel, not me. Alas.

Barnes--the name still rested uneasily upon his head, like wearing Steve’s hat instead of his own--waited for the organ music to swell and the muted rustle of everyone rising from the pews to mask his movements before he slipped into the very last row in the great cathedral.

He wiped his sweating hand down his pant leg, though his metal hand he kept firmly in his jacket pocket. His clothes were hardly dress uniform, but the pants were at least black, the shirt charcoal grey and the jacket a very dark blue. He wished he had a proper suit, but his life these days hadn't exactly offered much chance nor need for strolling into suit shops. He counted it good enough that nothing he wore was stained or tattered. Most of his clothing was. 

The man beside him, a stranger, gave him the barest nod, which Barnes returned. _Don't avoid normal eye contact. Don't do anything to stand out. Be nondescript. Be unremarkable.  
_

_Be nobody._

He could be nobody. He'd been a nobody for seventy years, so long that he couldn't be sure what normal eye contact was (had he ever had missions where he had to look ordinary? Maybe... surely...?), but the man turned his eyes forward without fuss. Barnes must have done it right. Score one for Barnes having remembered how _not_ to behave like a feral animal when interacting with strangers.

He took a quiet, deep breath and tucked a wayward strand of long hair behind his ear. He hadn’t been this nervous since… well, he couldn’t really say. All he knew is that it had been seventy years and then some since he’d last attended a funeral.

_The little parish church was filled with mourners. It smelled of lemon wood polish, candle wax, incense and the pungent sweetness of lilies, which Steve had told him was his ma’s favorite flower. Bucky sat on Steve’s left, in the front pew. Steve seemed smaller and more vulnerable than he’d ever seen him. Losing your ma will do that to a fella, he guessed. Buck's sister Rebecca sat on Buck’s left, and their ma sat on Steve’s right and their old man sat on her far side, so Steve was flanked by all the protection the Barnes family could give him. Seemed the least they could do, keep the kid buttressed in by folks who loved him, maybe keep him from breaking down completely. He reached for his friend’s shoulder, to give it a reassuring squeeze…_

Barnes’ right hand twitched. But there was no grieving best friend beside him to comfort, just the empty aisle.

... _empty air... two empty hands outstretched toward each other... reaching... reaching... too late..._

He grabbed the back of the pew in front of him. He was _not_ falling. It was just another damn flashback.

 _Breathe, Barnes. Breathe. Look around. You're not falling._ _You're not falling._

Breathe.

Mastering himself again, he craned his neck a little, trying to catch a glimpse of Steve, somewhere up near the altar, probably the very front row. Ready to step up and give a eulogy for a young sweetheart he had kissed goodbye one day only to wake up the next to find her an old woman who only knew him in scattered moments, and then at the end, not at all.

How do you live with that pain? His hand twitched again, the empty aisle to his right feeling like a winter-frozen chasm. He gripped the pew back a little more firmly, spread his feet a little.

Breathe.

He didn’t want to think too much about how the only two people left in Steve’s life didn’t remember him (though one was at least starting to again), so he thought instead about Agent Carter. His own memories of her, at least the ones that had emerged to date from the fog of his damaged mind, were sketchy at best. Dark eyes and a red dress. Nice ankles. An acerbic tongue that could cut a man down better than her right hook, which had been had been fierce enough to deck many an insubordinate jackass who thought he was too good to take orders from a woman. But he frowned as a new memory slowly emerged. Her right hand had also been gentle…

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

_He stirred as a soft hand brushed against his cheek. “Ma?”_

_“No, Sergeant. It’s Agent Carter. I came by to check on you and the rest of the men. You seem to be having some bad dreams.”_

_He blinked and swam up through the haze of fading nightmares, dark dreams that had been filled with harsh German voices and needles and straps and Steve throwing himself through fire and smoke across an impossible chasm…_

_He coughed and pushed himself up on his pillow. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he ached. The march back from Azzano had been really, really long. He tried not to wince, since Carter was sitting right there beside his cot in the medic tent, those brown eyes that missed nothing zeroing in on him worse than his mother’s. He wasn’t careful, she’d be forcing paregoric down his throat just like his ma used to. “’m fine, really. Just a little bit of a bad dream.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his left eye. It didn’t seem to want to open all the way._

_“It didn’t seem very little to me, but I won’t press.” God, she had a pretty accent. No wonder Steve was head over heels._

_Speaking of. “How’s Steve? He getting’ any rest?”_

_“As a matter of fact, yes, he actually is, after I insisted on it.”_

_“Good. Punk doesn’t know how to take care of himself.”_

_She smiled faintly at that. “To hear Captain Rogers tell it, you match him quite handily in that particular regard.”_

_Bucky dredged up his own smile. “Good thing we have you to watch over us then.” He felt his eyelids droop. Rude to fall asleep with such a pretty dame talking to you, even if she was Steve’s dame and not his, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. He was tired, so tired._

_He felt a hand pat his shoulder, then heard her soft voice, “Yes, it’s a very good thing. I’ll stand watch over you both, soldier, as long as you need me.”_

Barnes blinked his stinging eyes. He swallowed several times, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. She _had_ kept an eye on them, he remembered that now. Watched out for them both, Steve mostly of course, but even with eyes only for him, she had swept up Bucky in her affection because… well, anyone who wanted to be around Steve had to put up with Bucky. That was just how it was. He remembered that, too.

Barnes peeked again over the rows of people and finally caught a glimpse of the back of Steve’s head, way up in the front by a casket covered with red, white and blue flowers. The white ones were lilies, just like at Sarah Rogers' funeral. He wondered if Steve had picked those out.

Seeing him up there, surrounded by people but still looking completely alone… it left Barnes unsettled. Uncertain and guilty, like he was AWOL. Like he shoulda reported for duty as soon as he stepped into the church. Hell, as soon as he jumped from that helicarrier back into his own life. But so much was still wrong with him, so much to try to make up for…

No. All that didn’t matter. Only thing that mattered was that Steve shouldn’t be alone. Barnes needed… he needed to be up there. He need to be at Steve's side just like seventy-some years ago at Sarah Rogers’ funeral, when he was still human and had sat on Steve’s left on a day when his friend had lost everything.

Barnes… _Bucky_ … the nickname finally started to settle over him, a little like coming home and slipping into comfortable clothes... set his jaw. “You still got me, pal. ‘Til the end of the line,” he whispered, and at that moment, he knew he had to stop running. Had to stop avoiding Steve and face whatever disappointment and rejection Steve would rightfully offer the wretch he had become. He had to face him, because if there was the slightest chance Bucky could help Steve get through this, he had to take it, damn the consequences.

He wanted to run down the empty aisle and bull his way over to Steve, but he knew he couldn't. Not a feral animal, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath and pushed back against a wholly inappropriate mission focus, the Asset trying to take control. _Not yet. Not yet._ He gripped the pew again. _Breathe._

Breathe.

Not yet.

Breathe.

He could wait. But not for long. As soon as this service was over, he would go to Steve and, damaged and soul-stained as he was, offer whatever was left of himself to his friend. He had been derelict in his duty for seventy years, and it was time to report back.

He looked at the framed portrait of Peggy Carter beside the casket, and he could almost hear her voice:

_“Post and orders remain as directed, soldier.”_

Orders: take position and watch Steve's flank. The mission, for both of them but far longer for Bucky, had always been to protect Steve's flank. Always. He straightened his shoulders. Ignored the people around him as he lifted his hand in salute. “Orders acknowledged, ma’am,” he whispered.

It was time to stand watch again.

**Author's Note:**

> “Post and orders remain as directed” and “Orders acknowledged” come from the Tomb of the Unknowns changing of the guard ceremony. It seemed to fit.


End file.
